


When I Go Backwards

by spacemonkey



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen thought one day he’d get in the car with Jon and they’d just drive, out on the open road and Jon could maybe drive at a normal speed so there would be more time for the bickering and less time for chasing reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Go Backwards

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the grand old days of 2007

Jon suggests Philadelphia, and with the way he drives, Stephen is sure they’ll be there in no time.

He says, “I’m driving,” and Jon hands him the keys.

They head south, slowly, and when Jon asks if this is a kidnapping attempt, Stephen just smiles and flicks the radio on.

*******************************

There’s something almost charming about Jon’s away message, even if it does read Playing with self, bbl. 

Stephen tries not to smile, fails completely, and then lets himself laugh a little. Even if he does find bbl to be even lazier than lol. But lol has a certain je ne sais quoi that makes it pretty much superior to any other internet babble, and he just can’t fault it. So it would probably make him a hypocrite if he complained about bbl, and besides, was that really the thing to focus on in Jon’s away message?

He types, “webcam,” to Jon, waits a minute and adds, “please.” Being polite has always gotten him further in life, especially when it concerns sex.

Jon takes a while, but he responds, “come over.” Stephen’s in the middle of writing a reasonably important segment, but so what if the show is half finished that night?

*******************************

Stephen can see him now, fidgeting and gesturing and desperately trying to get his point across – even if it’s an argument that Jon’s just not going to win. Stephen’s sure of this, clear as day, because Jon is wrong.

“All I’m saying,” Jon continues, “is that the way things are turning out, it’s bound to happen.”

“Why?”

“Because it is!”

“But why?” Stephen pushes, knowing Jon doesn’t have a strong enough discussion point; that he walked into this half blind because it’s two in the morning.

“Stephen!”

And there it is, Jon going for the obvious. Stephen asks, “Have you seen Happy Feet, Jon?”

“Of course. Nate loved the colourful sing-alongs and hidden political agenda.” There’s an eye roll in that statement, and Stephen grips the phone tighter.

“Would you say that Elijah Wood’s voiceover was particularly memorable?”

Jon pauses, mutters, “Uh . . . no.”

Stephen pauses himself, gleam in his eye – one that he’s sure Jon would appreciate, was he in the room. “But Mark Hamill is memorable as the voice of the Joker. Right?”

“I guess.” There’s a conceding sigh attached to that statement, and Jon’s not even trying anymore.

“How can they have the same career path as one another if Mark is better at vocal acting then Elijah?”

A stretch of silence, then muffled laughter. “That is what you’re basing your argument on?”

“Sure! Why not? It’s as ridiculous as saying that Elijah is going to end up like Mark, because they played supposedly similar characters. Frodo and Luke Skywalker are nothing alike. Luke had a lightsaber, Frodo had Sam. End of discussion.”

“Your powers of deduction astound me, Stephen.”

Stephen smiles into his coffee.

****************************

Stephen wouldn’t exactly call Jon’s driving maniacal, but there’s something there that makes a trip not as soothing as it should be. If he was driving, Stephen would go slower with the music playing soft in the background. Better to be stuck in a car together for however long, then to be outside chasing reality. 

“What?” Jon asks after stopping the car, when Stephen’s gaze has gone on for a beat too long. 

Stephen shrugs. “You seem in a rush to get out of the car. Are you trying to avoid me, Jon? Avoid our feelings?”

“Idiot,” Jon mutters as he opens his door, but there’s a hint of a major smile on his face, and Stephen laughs.

**************************

His phone rings again, chirpy as all hell, and Stephen sends it a pitiful glare. Fifth time lucky, he supposes Jon is thinking, and he’s wrong.

The ringing stops, and a moment later it beeps. It’s practically become old hat now, and he snaps up the phone like the other four times and listens to the message.

“Stephen, look. I’m sorry, alright? Please, just pick up the phone - within the next twenty calls. Or, you know . . .”

He tosses the phone back down on the couch, waits for it to ring again. Number fourteen, Stephen decides. Seems like enough suffering on Jon’s part, and if he has to listen to his phone ringing twenty more times, he going to kill someone. Or throw his phone in an act of manly anger, like all good hissy fits.

The phone rings again, and Stephen counts the numbers off in his head.

*****************************

Jon laughs, slightly hysterical and exclaims, “You want me to what?”

“It’s a simple request.” Stephen splays his hands out as he raises an eyebrow and Jon just looks at him.

“Jews can’t hold a beat, Stephen, don’t you remember South Park?”

He did remember that episode, but really, what did Comedy Central know? Jon would be the first one to admit that. Stephen smiles, “There’s a difference between holding a beat and dancing on the desk.”

“Really? Because I’m not exactly seeing it.”

“Sure. You don’t need a beat to strip tease,” Stephen stops, considers this then shakes his head. “Well, you do need the salsa music because it makes it that much more exciting, but it’s not like you have to follow the beat. You just . . . get naked. While dancing. Sexily.”

“To salsa music.”

“Right.” There’s a long pause, Jon staring at him like he’s just suggested they juggle kittens, and then Stephen breaks, “Come on, Jon! No ones here, it would be totally hot.”

“I think there’s something seriously wrong with you if you think that would be totally hot,” Jon says, but a second later he’s climbing up onto his desk.

Stephen’s jaw drops, and he almost shrieks, “Oh my God, you’re actually going to do it?”

Jon pauses, half crouched on the table, and looks at Stephen. “Uh, you made a convincing argument?”

“But I didn’t think you’d actually do it! I was going to ease you into the idea,” Stephen frowns. “I don’t even have the salsa music ready.”

Jon untangles himself from his tedious position and sits on the edge of the desk. “Come here,” he says, and Stephen walks over to sit next to him. They’re thigh to thigh, staring out at the empty audience, and Stephen’s seriously considering going and finding his salsa collection when Jon looks at him wide eyed.

“So, my milkshake won’t be bringing all the boys to the yard tonight?” he asks, pitifully and Stephen shoves him. “Hey!”

*******************************

Stephen has this memory of his parents piling the kids into a van one day and just driving. He might have been six, and it had been a struggle, but they’d gotten on the open road and his dad had been happy. His mom had put up with the kids bickering, but Stephen assumed she’d been pretty thrilled as well.

He’d taken Amy and Paul on a road trip twenty odd years later. They’d gotten twenty miles in before Amy remembered she’d left the front door unlocked, forty miles in once more before Paul had started to tease Amy, and two hundred miles until Stephen had gotten so annoyed because Amy was on Paul’s side, and Paul’s leg was touching his, and he had been pretty sure they’d been doing it just to hear the magic words, and he’d let them loose: “If you two don’t shut the hell up, I’ll turn this car around.”

They’d been obedient and laughing after that and, yeah, it had been a thing, but that was what road trips we’re all about. 

Stephen thought one day he’d get in the car with Jon and they’d just drive, out on the open road and Jon could maybe drive at a normal speed so there would be more time for the bickering and less time for chasing reality. 

Jon laughs at the idea, says, “Maggie just turned one, are you kidding me with this?” and then gets a wistful smile on his face that says yeah, it would be pretty fun.

 

************************

Stephen doesn’t mean to blow smoke up his own ass, but he makes a killer Marinara sauce. He’s also pretty good at getting the spaghetti cooked just right; instead of rubbery the way Evie makes it. She doesn’t really cook pasta all that much though, is more of a noodles type of girl, but that’s okay because Jon is the one eating tonight.

He’s absently uncorking a bottle of red – you don’t drink beer with pasta, Jon – and Stephen takes a break from his sauce stirring to raise an eyebrow. “You don’t watch what you’re doing and you’re going to cork yourself in the eye.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve shot myself in the eye,” Jon says with a suggestive wink and pops the cork. They watch as it rebounds off the wall.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking about corks?”

“Because I barely drink wine.”

“Dir-ty,” Stephen sing songs, adding, “Nice shot, by the way. Not at all dangerous.”

“Yeah, you just can’t get eye drops for those sorts of things.” Jon sets a glass down next to Stephen’s arm, watches as he stirs the sauce. “Looks . . . smooth.”

“I’m surprised you recognise ‘smooth’, Jon.”

“Asshole.”

Stephen just smiles, brings the spoon to his lips and tastes. He hums happily, puts the spoon back in the sauce and begins to stir once more. He’s half expecting Jon to freak out – you don’t double dip, Stephen, never mind where his tongue has been on Jon’s body – but there’s nothing.

Jon’s just watching him, half amused half awkward in that special Jon way, and Stephen keeps stirring the sauce.

“Stephen?” Jon begins, then clears his throat. “You know, uh. I mean, you and me. You know I . . . well, you know.”

Stephen grins, puts the spoon down and turns to Jon. “Ah.”

“Ah?”

“Yeah.”

“Just ah?”

“It was about as romantic as yours.”

“Romantic.” Jon screws his face up slightly, then looks at the stove. “Your sauce is going to burn.”

“It needed more salt, anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure burnt saucepan doesn’t contain sodium,” Jon says with a small smile.

Stephen picks up the spoon and begins to stir once more. “Hey Jon? You know I awkward confession you too, right?”

***********************

Jon has a caramel latte, Stephen has his with vanilla, and they both decide either way it’s pretty girly. 

“Whatever happened to the days when men drank straight black coffee with a chaser of motor oil?” Jon wonders as they leave the café.

“Flavour was invented, Jon, try to keep up.”

“The oil gave me ulcers anyway.”

“Living gives you ulcers,” Stephen counters as they walk.

Jon is quicker on the draw, shoots back, “That’s hypochondria.”

Monkey has slowly but surely chewed Jon’s couch to hell, and Tracey asked Jon to buy a new one going on two months ago. They find a furniture store; sit down on a few before Jon gets distracted by the desk chairs. “I’ve been needing a new one,” he says, eyeing off a comfy looking leather chair. “Wow, this one can raise me up enough to look tall.”

“No one cares how short you are when you’re in your office firing them, Jon.” Stephen guides him back to the couches, points out a simple but stylish red design. “Get that one.”

Tracey wanted cream suede, but they both agree it’s impractical with kids and Jon goes home with a red couch waiting to be delivered. Stephen hangs around, and if he happens to buy the leather desk chair for Jon, well it’s just one of those things that happen.

 

***********************  
There’s a pause, uncharacteristically long for Jon, and then he says, quiet, “You know you wore one of my shirts home last night?”

“And it barely reached the top of my pants. I had to zip my jacket -”

“Yeah. Tracey, uh, she found your shirt under the bed. You – you know how she . . .”

Stephen sits down.

******************************

Jon twirls the pen in his hand, lets it twist and turn between his fingers and drop to the floor. He lets out the utmost sigh, borderline hysteric. “What the hell are we going to do now?”

Stephen doesn’t think about it, just says, “Road trip.”

****************************

Jon suggests Philadelphia, and with the way he drives, Stephen is sure they’ll be there in no time.

He says, “I’m driving,” and Jon hands him the keys.

They head south, slowly, and when Jon asks if this is a kidnapping attempt, Stephen just smiles and flicks the radio on.


End file.
